What's Your Name?
by vapourtrailreads
Summary: [MUGGLE AU] He hasn't been drinking, but Gellert could swear that he's drunk. Standard. Written for THC Round 2


A/N:

Thanks to Cass, Elaine and Gen for reading through!

**What's Your Name?**

_skreeeeekCRASH-_

_Thump._

_This is why you don't drink and drive_, Gellert thinks, cursing the other driver's idiocy as the world whirls around him like a pinwheel.

He was perfectly sober, and he _still_ didn't see the car coming. Gellert could have sworn that it appeared out of a portal or something, but what does it matter? He still feels the impact as keenly as a slap on his face, the wind running its soft hands through his hair as he sails through the air gracefully like a ballerina, the stinging punch of the road as it presses its rocky knuckles to his body with the force of a thousand sledgehammers.

Gellert lays on the asphalt, numbly aware of his helmet half yanked off his head by the force of the crash, of his hair sticking to his forehead in strands slick with sweat and something else, of the sickening warmth and coppery scent of his own blood bombarding his senses. Sounds drift in and out of his throbbing head - horrified screaming, feet shuffling, sirens wailing, cameras clicking. He wonders if any of these bystanders have been knocked down by a car before. Probably not.

His head is tilted gently to the side as the paramedics lift him up as one, lay him on the stretcher with the delicate care of a baker piping frosting on a cake. An oxygen mask is snapped onto his face, an IV kisses his arm viciously, the stretcher's wheels rattle precariously beneath him, and the ambulance doors slam shut and they're off, tearing down the road.

"Can you hear me?"

Gellert's eyes lock with the doctor's, and his gut does a flip. He has half-moon spectacles that look like the kind his grandma would wear, a pair of cool blue irises that study him with the precision of a scalpel, and oh-so-luscious-looking auburn hair that reaches the bottom of his ears. Unconsciously, he starts to raise his hand, but the doctor reaches out and settles it back at his side with surprising firmness.

"Don't move," he scolds, his voice clear and resounding in Gellert's ears like the orchestra he went to see the other time. Gellert winces from the relentless beat of blood in his temples, the increasing rhythm thumping through his being, sending pain out with every pulse like a radio broadcast.

"There's no guarantee I'll make it out of this," he says slowly. Not a question, but a statement.

If the doctor is taken aback by his words, he doesn't show it. "No." He smiles wryly, and his blue eyes sparkle like little fairy lights. "There is not."

A hysterical little giggle escapes him then, like a bubble blown by a child. Gellert watches the doctor out of the corner of his drooping eyelids, his lips tugging into a weak smile. "What a way to go," he mumbles, letting his head fall to the other side of the pillow as the drug-induced sleep plucks at his consciousness with curious, possessive fingers. "I'm gonna die and I don't even know your name."

As the curtain of darkness falls, he thinks he hears the doctor say something, but he doesn't catch it, only registers the faint screech of brakes in the now-empty space of his mind as the fog takes him.

_XXXXXXXX_

_beep_

_._

_._

_beep _

_._

_._

_beep_

_._

_._

Gellert peels his eyes open wonderingly, then squeezes them shut again as the fluorescent white light stabs at his sight with unfeeling intensity. The sharp tang of medicine, the artificial coolness of air conditioners, the muffled clamour of conversation just outside his door… he's not dead. Is he?

His eyes fly open as the lock clicks, and he blinks, caught off guard.

It's the hot young doctor.

Oh.

_beep_

_._

_beep_

_._

_beep_

_._

The doctor grins faintly, clutching a clipboard to his blue scrubs. "How are you feeling?" he asks, then brushes a curl of auburn hair behind his ear, a pinkish tint dusting his cheekbones. "I'm Albus, in case you didn't catch it… the other time."

Gellert looks at him blankly for a while, then laughs sheepishly as the memory of his drunken comment returns to him. "Well, I know now." A short silence stretches between them. "I'm-"

"Gellert. I read your file." Albus's fairy-light eyes flick away, and Gellert realises he's been staring. Then his eyes return, and it's Gellert's turn to look away.

Albus clears his throat. "So. You have three broken ribs, a broken nose," Gellert raises his hand to his face and flinches at the feeling of his fingers on bruised skin, "and a rather serious concussion." He cocks his head, mouth twisting as he skims through the contents of the clipboard. "You didn't have any next-of-kin that we could contact." The paper rustles as he wedges the clipboard under his arm.

"You'll have to stay in the hospital for three weeks, because it's actually the concussion and not the broken bones we're worried about," he continues. "As long as you refrain from strenuous activities for the next three weeks after you're discharged, your ribs won't be a problem. Any questions?" he finishes, the query seemingly perfunctory.

Gellert smiles cheekily. "You're my doctor, correct?"

Is it just him, or is that a growing blush on the doctor's cheeks?

_beep_

_beep_

_beep_

_beep_

"Yes, I am," Albus replies, and Gellert's suspicions that it is not just him are confirmed.

"So," Gellert says, proud of his ability to keep the note of hopefulness from his voice, "I'll get to see you all the time. Right?"

Albus's full lips perk up in a smile. "Yes. Yes, you will." He chews gently at his bottom lip, considering. "Have a good rest, Mr. Grindelwald." He turns on his heel and reaches for the doorknob.

"I thought we were on first name terms?" Gellert feigns disappointment. Except it isn't entirely feigned.

This time, he manages to get a proper laugh out of the other man, and a strange flood of satisfaction courses through him. "Good day, Gellert."

The way his name rolls off Albus's tongue… now that's something he could get used to. "Good day, _Albus_," he croons back, throwing every ounce of positive feeling into his smile.

The look that appears on Albus's face, he decides, is his new favourite thing.

_XXXXXXXX_

"Why do I tell you bad chemistry jokes?" Gellert asks as soon as the door swings open. He folds his hands in his lap expectantly, (dare he admit it?) eagerly awaiting the sound of the doctor's reply. It's a little thing they've started, the daily chemistry joke. It shouldn't make Gellert feel stupidly happy, but hey. You never know.

Albus's eyes twinkle, something that he still hasn't grown used to over the past week. "Because all the good ones argon." He comes over and stands beside Gellert's bed. "Did I get it right?"

"Damn straight." Gellert flips his hair out of his eyes. His grandma used to pester him to get a haircut once every month at least, but now that she's six feet under with her pancreatic cancer he hasn't bothered with his hair much.

Albus smiles crookedly. "Not me."

"Hm?" Then it dawns on Gellert. "Ohh." He leans back, folding his arms casually behind his head. "Don't worry, I still love you."

Albus shushes him, but the laughter in his eyes gives him away. "Be more serious," he says, twirling his blue ballpoint pen between his fingers with careful deftness. "You're the only person outside my family who knows."

"I'm honoured." And for some reason, Gellert means it.

Albus sits in the chair, posture perfect, eyes flicking between the monitor and his clipboard as he scribbles notes. Gellert finds himself wondering what his handwriting looks like - fancy, probably. Cursive?

_beep beep_

_beep beep_

_beep beep_

Albus finishes with his work and rises from his chair. "You know what to do if you need help," he says, indicating the call button on Gellert's bed with his eyes.

Gellert nods quietly, smiling and giving a little wave and doing his best to ignore the little seed of reluctance blooming in his chest. "Until tomorrow, Albus."

Albus smirks, and Gellert swears to himself that he will never tell anyone about that feeling in a million years. "Rest well, my friend."

_XXXXXXXX_

Gellert concludes that he doesn't know anything anymore.

He's pretty sure it's not normal to think about breaking your ribs again just to get back into the hospital. Then again, it's probably not normal to be so… close to your doctor. He doesn't know. He just doesn't know.

Albus comes through the door. "No chem joke today, huh?" he asks, his voice low and quiet and _definitely not turning him on, no_.

_beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep_

Gellert shrugs nonchalantly. At least, he sure hopes it looks nonchalant. "Not in the mood."

Albus's blue eyes search his, and Gellert clenches his jaw in an effort to distract himself from the growing urge to fidget. He hands him a stack of normal clothes - black pants and a blue T-shirt - and sets a pair of dark grey Chuck Taylors beside the bed. He notes that his phone and wallet are balanced on the stack of clothes as well.

"They'll take care of… that… later," Albus says, gesturing at the monitor and the IV drip, and Gellert realises that the stupid thing has been tracking his heartbeat and displaying it for the entire world to see. Particularly - oh, shit.

He's screwed.

"I'll be back," Albus nods at him, his hair obscuring his eyes. The door slams shut gently.

_beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeep beepbeep_

_beep_

_beep_

_beep_

For want of a better distraction, Gellert reaches for his phone, flips open the cover.

He hears it before he sees it, the telltale fluttering of falling paper. The stupid monitor is beeping like he's just run a marathon, but all Gellert can hear is his heart marching in his ears as he lets his eyes fall on the message written on the small card.

So he does write in cursive after all.

_XXXXXXXX_

_Beep._

The sound of the notification tone jerks Albus out of his trance. He whips it out. One new message.

_Complete the sentence: Are you a carbon sample?_

It's only now that Albus realises he's been holding his breath ever since he left Gellert's ward. His fingers fly across the screen as he tries to hide his grin.

He clicks 'send', sticks his phone back in his pocket and continues down the corridor, a new spring in his step.

_XXXXXXXX_

When the phone vibrates loudly against the bedside table, Gellert lunges for it, snatches it up like a drowning man clutching at straws. God, he's in deep.

_Saturday. 5:30. West Wing entrance. Don't be late._

A senseless burst of relief washes over him as he sits on the bed, grinning madly at his phone.

_Oh, I wouldn't dare anger the great Albus Dumbledore. _He sends the message, and the reply appears a second later.

_Shut up._

He hasn't been drinking and won't be drinking anytime soon, but in this moment, Gellert could swear that he's, without a doubt, drunk.

_**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**_

House: Ravenclaw

Year: 3

Category: Standard

Prompt: [Speech] "I'm gonna die and I don't even know your name."

Word Count: 1836


End file.
